Page 33 of Dark Things (Payback Duet #1)

Rebelle

W e’re summoned the next night to the slaughterhouse. An angry text from Stan has my nerves on edge. Being summoned is always a bad thing, but when it comes via text with that many heated words, it means there’s extra pain to be doled out.

We pull into the parking lot, and the usual clowns are outside, standing around with their thumbs up their asses. Nothing but lazy fucking shields for when shit goes down. Expendable meat sacks.

Haunt gets out first and opens my door before falling behind me to watch my back. As we approach, Rook, whose real name is Carlo, straightens up and opens the door to the slaughterhouse for me. He glances between Haunt and I, but the other guard is staring at me like I’m a fucking animal at a zoo.

I stop and stare back, but he doesn’t break eye contact. A low growl sounds behind me, but I hold my arm out stopping Haunt from stepping in.

“He new?” I ask Rook.

“Yeah, he started last week,” he says, nodding. Rook has been an ally for Haunt and me for a long time, it’s how we know his real name. Stan’s mercs use call signs and then if only you’re close enough to be considered friends, you offer your true name as a sign of trust.

Rook elbows the guy in the side. He swings his head toward Rook but then snaps it right back to me.

“Hmm…what’s your name, buddy?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Mitch,” he snarls.

“Not your real name, you idiot, your call sign,” I say, sighing.

“Dozer.”

“And do you know who we are, Dozer?”

Haunt, steps closer to my back, his hand resting on my hip. It’s a possessive move, but it also puts his hand closer to the gun in my holster.

“I know who he is, but you’re just another whore like the rest who come through here,” he says, crossing his hands behind his back, no doubt a hand on his gun.

A smile stretches over my face, but Haunt pushes further into me. I can feel the heat coming off his body, and the vibrations of anger rolling through him.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just another whore. Ghost’s whore, right, baby?” I turn my head up to stare at Haunt. I can’t see beyond his neck, but I can imagine the fire glowing in his eyes.

“Rook, when is the next fight night?” Haunt asks, not taking his focus off of Dozer.

“Tonight, sir,” Rook answers, his grip tightening on the knob.

“Make sure he’s there,” Haunt says, before stepping back and guiding me with his hand on my back through the door.

There’s no one in the front room, and as soon as the door slams shut, I hear the shouting on the other side. Haunt cracks his neck before walking ahead of me past the plastic curtain separating the two areas.

He holds it open for me, and I smile, but Haunt’s expression doesn’t change. Before we see anyone, I put my hand on his forearm, halting him from going any further.

“He’ll be even more pissed if he sees you all worked up. Take a breath. We can deal with Dozer later. I’m sure his enlightenment is going to leave a lasting impression.”

Haunt closes his eyes for a moment before facing me. The fire is gone, and sadness replaces it. “I hate when they call you that.”

“I know, but the pigs aren’t going to go away because you want them to.”

Before he can answer, a bellow rings out in the cavernous room. “Get your fucking asses over here. ”

I purse my lips before schooling my features and walking further into the space.

Stan is standing next to Vince and I want to pull my gun and explode both of their heads, but then I think of Magnus and my hand steadies.

Once we get in reaching distance, Vince makes a move to grab me, but my knife is at his dick before he can make contact.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. I’ll cut your fucking dick off before you get anywhere near me. I’m not an eighteen year old girl anymore, Vince,” I growl, the venom dripping from every word.

“Enough! Vince, go see that things are set up for tonight,” Stan says.

Vince steps back, giving me a wide berth, but Haunt is the one to step in his path. His arm goes back, and the punch lands on Vince’s jaw before he realizes Haunt moved.

The both glare at each other before Vince steps away and goes through the plastic curtain. Stan grumbles, and both our attentions snap back to him.

“You’re both starting to piss me off. Explain to me why the fuck Mario isn’t dead. What the fuck have you been doing? It’s been a month, and I haven’t seen any results!” he screams.

I try not to flinch, but the reaction to memories of Stan’s cruelty is reflexive by now. It’s ingrained in me. I’m not afraid, but I’m conditioned to this response and it’s a hard habit to break .

“Again,” Stan screams.

I lock my knees and wait for the next punch to land.

Vince has been torturing me for the last three hours.

Hits to the face, torso, legs. I’m suspended over a small drain with my arms stretched above my head.

The smell of my fresh blood mixes with the scent of animals and farming equipment.

The barn that we’re in is used for special practices, or at least that’s what Haunt told me.

Vince’s next punch lands on my already sore ribs, and I wince back in pain. “You’re going to break, and when you do I’ll be sure to lick up all those tears.”

I close my eyes and try not to think of that night, the one where everything I am died, but it’s so fucking hard when all I’m feeling is pain.

It’s been a little over a month since I’ve been trapped here, but my torture has never escalated to this before.

Training consisted of working out, fighting with knives, target shooting, but since I’ve excelled at most of those, Stan thought I needed some other tools in my arsenal. Mainly how to withstand torture.

“Tell us your name!” Stan screams in my face, gripping my chin, his nails digging into the soft flesh. My jaw sometimes is still sore from the surgeries, but after being hit repeatedly it feels like it’s on fire.

“Pitch,” I say, ripping my face from his hold and spitting blood out of my mouth onto the floor.

“Your real fucking name!”

I glare at him. He wants me to break so he can punish me, but he hasn’t been able to yet.

I don’t think of myself as tough, just not stupid enough to get killed.

Stan needs me, and so these little activities are just that—experiments designed to scare me enough to give in, but I won’t.

My brother is missing, and only Stan knows where he is.

Nothing he does will prevent me from getting to Magnus.

I’ll be whoever he needs me to be, become his weapon, and do everything he wants for as long as it takes me to find Magnus.

“My only name is Pitch.”

“We’ve made headway. We have access to the back rooms at Haven.

Our plan is to set up cameras and watch their movements before we come up with a solid take down.

We’ve been establishing our cover, plus the other jobs we’ve been tasked with.

We’ll get it done soon,” Haunt says, hands behind his back like a good little soldier.

“You two are getting too comfortable. Maybe I should leave this job to Pitch and you, my son, can go work on establishing our foothold in the city,” Stan says, stepping into my space. Unlike with Vince, I can’t pull my knife, even if I want to.

I clear my throat and lock my knees so I don’t take a step back. “Haunt is my handler. I need a second in order to make this clean. Unless you want a bloody mess like Prague, he needs to be here.”

I’m pushing it, speaking to him this way, but I can’t be separated from Haunt. Not only will our plans be derailed, but my soul can’t be away from him for long.

Stan growls and grabs my hair, tilting my head back at a bad angle. I hiss but don’t complain otherwise. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Haunt twitch, but he gets it under control.

“You have a week to get this done, or you’re going to be separated until I say, understand?” he yells in my face, spittle flying from his mouth.

I nod as much as I can with his fist pulling my hair from the root. “Yes, sir.”

He pushes me away, and I stumble for a moment before catching myself.

“Now, tonight you’re going to fight. Two death matches. Don’t make me fucking look bad,” he says looking right at me before stalking away.

Haunt releases his control and storms out of the room.

I’m behind him, cursing under my breath.

I haven’t been in a death match in over a year.

I fucking hate them almost as much as I hate Stan, but there’s nothing to be done.

I’ll have to add two more deaths on my soul, because losing isn’t a fucking option.